The New Batgirl Adventures Vol 1: Back to Reality
by TheAmazingS
Summary: Things have been quiet in Gotham City since the incident at Blackgate Penitentiary that left our intrepid heroine in a Black Mercy-induced coma. But, because some higher power hates Stephanie Brown, that is all about to change. Vacation time is over, it's back to reality...
1. Chapter 1

_Gotham U._

_Assistant Professor Barbara Gordon's Office_

_Not technically her office hours_

Scene: Our intrepid heroine, Batgirl, after a long night of battling evildoers, is detailing her harrowing adventures to her friend and confidant, Barbara.

Barbara, knowing our intrepid heroine has been on some truly harrowing adventures of late, gives her undivided attention.

"…and Jason was Red Hood, but this time he wasn't crazy. Homicidal, yes, but in a 'Patrick Swayze in _Road House_, I killed a guy and regret it every day of my life, whoops I ripped this guy's throat out, you killed my mentor, now a polar bear is going to get you' way. But he wasn't around much, since he was off being a space cowboy with Arsenal and Starfire, which was as hilarity filled as you can imagine…actually, scratch that, it didn't make a bit of sense…"

"Steph…"

"…oh, and after Jason 'died,' Bruce recruited Tim, who was both an Olympic-level gymnast and a you-level computer genius, except he was stupid enough to steal money from Penguin, get caught, and force his family to go into witness protection, thus changing his last name to Drake when Bruce 'adopted' him as the third Robin in, like, two years, though I couldn't seem to make up my mind, apparently, whether or not he was actually a Robin or jumped straight to Red Robin out of respect for Jason's 'death'…"

"I really need to grade these assignments…"

"…of course he, also, didn't have much to do with the Bat-fam, since he was off playing Teen Titan in the worst costume from the nineties, and that's coming from a girl who wears a thigh belt, and making weirdly inept passes at Wonder Girl, which, by the way, ew…I should really tell Kara about that part, she'll get a kick out of it…"

"Hey, look, the Bat-signal…"

"…and then the Titans were attacked by Superboy on orders from a Definitely-Not-Cadmus Labs and were forced to dress like they were in _Tron…"_

"Wait," Barbara interrupted with enough force that I seriously thought Calculator was attacking. Again. "Are you even old enough to know _Tron?"_

I waved her off. "There was a new sequel out just a few months ago. Inspired me to watch the old one. Holds up surprisingly well. Where was I?"

"The Titans were stuck in _Tron_," Barbara Gordon, the Yoda to my Skywalker, said, doing that adorable thing where she pinches the bridge of her nose under her glasses. "You know you don't have to be lying down on my only couch for this, right? I'm a computer professor, not a psychiatrist."

I lifted my arm just enough to look at her out of the corner of my eye. "Sometimes you just have to obey the stereotype, Bones."

"Don't call me Bones," Barbara shot back.

"I don't know," I said, tapping a finger to my chin. "You do need a new handle. You 'killed' Oracle…"

"You're doing the air quote thing again."

"Calling you Not-Oracle defeats the purpose," I continued on as if she hadn't spoken. "So, Bob's your uncle, Bones."

"Bob's your…" Barbara sighed. "Video chatting with Beryl again?"

I gave a thumbs up to the ceiling and did my best Ringo. "Too right."

You would think, with the snark, that we didn't really get along, but that's how we operate. Truth be told, I worry a little bit when Babs does get sentimental on me, because that usually leads to her getting kidnapped by crazed arch-foes who sic a horde of nanite-controlled zombies on her. Or I've nearly died after inhaling the weaponized spores of an alien plant. You know, normal Friday afternoon stuff. At least for me, anyway.

I'm Stephanie Brown, college student thirsty for knowledge by day, vigilante thirsty for justice at night.

And I had the weirdest dream.

The Bat-family was the same, yet different, except for that lovable little psycho Damian, who was exactly the same. But there was one thing that was completely missing from everything. Me. Don't get me wrong, there was a Batgirl, but it was a magically healed Barbara in a mecha-suit fighting some mirror guy. Not Mirror Master, because that would have made sense, except for the fact that he's a Flash rogue, but an actual guy made out of mirrors. There was nary a plucky former Spoiler to be found.

Or a Cassandra Cain, now that I think about it.

"What does _that _mean?" I wondered.

"What does what mean?" Barbara asked.

Whoops. Inner monologue glitch. Again. "The dream," I said. "Neither Cass or myself were in it. Like, not even a sly mention on the side that we exist. So, oh wise one, what does that mean?"

She seemed to give that a long moment of consideration before answering, "That you shouldn't watch _Tron _and _The Butterfly Effect_ before bed?"

I blinked at that. Huh. "Good point."

"Steph," Barbara said carefully. "While I normally enjoy your sparkling commentary on…well, everything, I really do need to finish grading these assignments."

I perked up the exasperation in her voice. "Why the rush? Hot date? Perhaps with a certain dreamy, yet somewhat emotionally unavailable Gotham City Police detective?"

Barbara shot me a glare worthy of Bruce. "No, I do not have a date with Nick."

Nick would be "St." Nick Gage, though I don't really know why the cops call him St. Nick, other than the obvious. Personally, I refer to him as Detective McHandsome, thanks to my…friend, I guess, Wendy. He really is dreamy. He's got these haunted eyes, amazing hair, and has managed to master that permastubble look that millions of guys have tried, but few actually pull off. When we dated, it took Tim probably four days to get that look. And even then it was spotty at best.

Granted, he was sixteen and not late twenties or early thirties, but I digress.

Detective Gage and myself had developed something of a working relationship over the last few months. It was a unique relationship, in that he trusted me to do my job as Batgirl and I would squee almost always silently. There was also plenty of unresolved sexual tension in our witty banter. At least, that's what I told myself prior to diving out of a plane and into the midst of a pack of super-armored psychos causing a riot at Blackgate Penitentiary. Right before doing what was, possibly, the stupidest thing I could think of, I made a huge, personal sacrifice to my own happiness and told the good detective to give Babs a call.

It had been four months, now, and he still hadn't followed my advice.

I hadn't seen him professionally, either, for a few weeks. Weird. Should probably check that out.

"If you must know…"

"I do."

She did that nose pinch thing again. "I'm meeting with the Birds. Well, Dinah and Helena. Apparently, I need to, and I quote, 'find the fun, B.' So, I'm being dragged to a club."

I sat up at that. "Because you just scream 'raver.'"

"I know, right?" she said. I mentally cringed at the phrase, thoughts of my deadbeat of a father springing into my mind unbidden. I shivered slightly and reaffirmed my vow to never use those three words ever again. "There's a poetry reading tonight at the student union that should be pretty interesting."

Poetry reading. Of course. "Babs, and I say this with much love, but go to the club."

"Don't you have a final to study for?" she shot back. As dense as I can be, even I noticed her annoyance level taking a sharp jump.

"Had my last one this morning," I said brightly. Her annoyance didn't stop me, but I noticed it. Progress, thy name is Stephanie.

"Ping pong match?"

I shook my head sadly. "Pad's already blown town. Headed back to the Motherland for the summer."

"India?"

"Central City."

The wince was totally worth it. Barbara shook it off and soldiered on in her attempt to rid herself of me. "What about Jor…"

"You are not really going to finish the word I think you are, right?" I cut in with my best impression of Bruce scaring a mugger into wetting himself.

"Apparently not," Barbara sighed. "You could always train."

"Well, yeah," I said, rolling my eyes. "But that just makes sense."

Babs leveled me with a much better impression of Bruce's 'Make muggers pee themselves' glare. "Out."

"Okay, okay," I said, gathering up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. "I know when I'm not wanted. You don't have to tell me twice."

"Steph…" Barbara bit out, but, visibly, let out a breath for a ten count. I actually saw the vein on her temple throb twice, like one of those anime cartoons. Wendy would have been proud, had she been here and not off finding Buddha or whatever it is she's looking for. "I will talk to you tomorrow. Unless it is a Crisis-level emergency. And I mean the Anti-Monitor, himself, has to be bearing down on us and a Flash has died."

I saluted with one hand while the other twisted the doorknob to her office. "Got it, Bones."

Whatever she said in response was lost as I pulled a Bugs and slid out the door and out of the Rossum Computer Sciences building. It was a warm day, with the kind of sun we don't see in Gotham very often. Not a cloud in the sky, somewhat low pollution content, a bird or two singing. It almost inspired me to start spinning as I walked across the Quad towards the bus stop by the student union. I curbed the impulse, if for no other reason than I really didn't want people seeing my Maria from _The Sound of Music_ impression. Again.

Normally, I'm not in this Pollyanna of a mood, but it had been fairly dead around Gotham for the last few months. Ever since the incident with the Order of the Scythe at Blackgate, which left your friendly, neighborhood Batgirl in a Black Mercy-induced coma for a few days, the seedy underbelly of Gotham has been quiet. Muggings, murders, drug dealings were all down to merely above the national average from Gotham's usual output of "War torn, third world countries look more appealing." Not even the Arkham sect had broken out lately.

Predictably, because some higher power hates Stephanie Brown, the second that thought crossed my mind was the exact moment when a building near the union decided to explode.

The Quad at Gotham University was surrounded on all sides by buildings. The library was the main one, as it took up the entirety of the northern 'wall' of the space, complete with really neat archways lining the main walk up to the doors. Really, all of the six buildings that formed the perimeter of the Quad were probably an architecture nerd's fantasy, though, ironically, the architecture building was a dumpy-looking thing on the far, south end of the campus. And props to me for using 'ironically' correct. It truly is a lost art. I blame that song.

The explosion seemed to come from the walkway out of the Quad on the west end, opposite the computer sciences building that I had just emerged from torturing Barbara in. The buildings create something of an alley before opening up into a courtyard between the student union and the Language Arts building. The administration had dubbed the area 'the Hamilton Hill Free Speech Zone' and students liberally took advantage of it by voicing their opinions.

Granted, the opinions are voiced by graffiti, but they still were being vocal about their political beliefs. Have to take it in baby steps. First is the graffiti denouncing the corrupt Gotham City government. After that come the protests in Robinson Park about the lack of support for the police department in their fight against the "freaks," which is followed closely by Poison Ivy's plants eating the protestors because they were stupid and held a rally in Robinson Park.

Really, I've seen it a million times in the nine months since I started college. But I digress.

From what I could see from across the Quad, the building that had blown was in that alleyway, about two buildings deep. It was a narrow, three-story thing, though that didn't mean it didn't have at least one basement level. This is Gotham City, we're talking about. Odds are good Bruce has at least one satellite Batcave somewhere on campus. Smoke was pouring out of the windows on the first two levels, along with a steady stream of students fleeing the blast.

I rushed forward without thinking, fighting my way upstream of a swell of students stampeding away from the sudden chaos. A second, smaller explosion rocked the quad, forcing everyone to drop their bellies. I used the opportunity to find a way around the milling students before they became even more panicked and swept me off with them. I hopped up on to a nearby statue of someone I'm sure was important to the development of the school, trying to get a better look at the scene.

I was high enough to see numerous bodies lying around the ground, some moving, most not. Smoke billowed out of the white, brick building from all three floors, assaulting my nose even from this distance. A group of people burst out of the doors even as I watched, a few actually on fire and screaming over the roar of panicked voices. I started to jump towards them, but remembered that I, firstly, didn't have a grappling hook, and, secondly, that I wasn't wearing the purple-black-and-yellow.

Thankfully, someone tackled one of the burning people, the started rolling them on the ground forcefully to get the flames out. I could see him point at some other people, obviously instructing them to do the same to the others. It took a couple of shouts, but his buddies finally reacted, knocking down each of the burn victims and dousing the flames. Looking down, I grabbed at the collar of a passing student, who yelped when I stopped her in her incredibly cute sneakers.

Seriously, they were purple, canvass and had little yellow bats all over them. They were screaming, "Stephanie, buy these."

"Hey, what building is that?" I shouted at her to be heard over the stampede.

She blinked at me twice before stumbling out, "The Hightower Agriculture Library."

"Thank…" I frowned. "We have an agriculture library? No, better question. We have an agriculture _program_?"

The girl shrugged out of my grip and ran off, her black hair flying behind her and a jean skirt swishing inappropriately. The crowd around me found their sense of self-preservation and started running off again. Wisely, I stayed put at the foot of Kenneth Wayne, who looked about as pleasant as Bruce, so I assumed they were related, until they dispersed. I dropped down from the statue only to find Barbara right beside me. How a paraplegic can do a "ninja appear," I'll never know.

"What blew up?" she asked.

"Ag library."

She blinked and looked up at me suddenly. "We have an ag library? Gotham U. has an ag _program_?"

"I know, right?" I replied automatically and suppressed a shiver. "Though it does explain why we have a Harvest Festival."

"Finally," she rolled her eyes. "That mystery is solved. Now I can move on with my life. The authorities are on the way. Probably five or so minutes out."

I narrowed my eyes and tightened my grip on my bag's strap, which drew a sigh from beside me.

"It's daytime," Barbara said, apparently having developed mind-reading powers in addition to Keyboard-Fu. And actual Kung-Fu.

"Like that's ever stopped me before," I replied, dropping my bag on the ground and kneeling to dig into it.

She glared and then sighed in resignation. "At least take a rebreather."

I flashed said rebreather, one of the mini versions with the two small tanks jutting from a central mouthpiece. The fancy, longer-lasting, fits over my full lower face version was still in the utility belt. Don't ask why I keep one in my school bag. It's a traumatizing story involving a sewer, a midget, and a stripper.

With the rebreather in one hand, I took off towards the fire with several batarangs in the other. Specifically, these were of the fire-suppressant variety, with a couple of the freezing ones thrown in for posterity. Several were even my own inventions, thanks to the handy batarang quesadilla press in my secret lair below Barbara's former apartment.

Heh. I have a secret lair. Never get tired of saying that.

I dashed across the Quad, ignoring the moans of the wounded. Thankfully some students and faculty seemed to be trying to do some first aid, because I don't know if I could deal with bodies just lying around on the ground, waiting to die. I would stop and help and condemn anyone in the library to death. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. With others pitching in, though, I was able to rush towards the inferno guilt free.

Well. Guilt free-ish.

The flames were intense, much more so than I expected. The smoke was thick, making it almost impossible to both breathe and see into the library. Okay, I can deal with that. I'm good at improvising; it's kind of my thing. I stepped into the smoke plume, letting it conceal me from anyone watching. Shifting all but three of the batarangs to my left hand, I let fly with what I had invented down in Firewall: Fire suppressant, freezing goop-a-rangs. Don't ask me how I did it, considering the batarang press is really only meant to combine two different cartridges, but I have batarangs that are awesome in fiery situations.

Granted, they are really more meant for small fires and/or fire-based supervillans, but, right now, I takes what I can gets.

My little pretties flew through the blown out doors to the library. I, honestly, couldn't really tell what I was aiming at, considering the insane amounts of smoke, but I figured fire was everywhere, so anywhere would be a good target. Sirens in the distance let me know that the fire department was on the way, amazingly enough in a timely manner. Though, it shouldn't be _that_ surprising, I guess. Even corrupt government agencies don't want to see burning kids on a TV screen.

Steam and a few screams came billowing out of the windows and doors of the library. I shoved the rebreather into my mouth and ducked low to avoid the, still, large amounts of smoke that hung black in the bright, spring sky. A smoldering husk of a welcoming desk greeted me as I hurried into the library. It was coated in a large amount of icy, dripping foam courtesy of my Freeze-fire Goop-a-rangs (trademark pending). I tried not to wretch at the sight of a pair of black-and-red cracked legs sticking out from the wreckage, the knowledge I was already too late for one person weighing me down.

Beyond the welcome desk and lobby of the library hung what was left of a pair of large, wooden doors that had been, likewise, hit by probably only one of Goop-a-rangs. From where I was standing, crouched low to the ground, I could see the main body of the library, a number of shelves lined up on either side of a central walkway, had been lit up. Most worrisome was the ceiling, which I could tell, even through the smoke rolling like a black wave across it, was of the structurally unsound variety. I decided it would last only about five more minutes.

A creak and a loud crash towards the back of the library made me readjust my assessment down to 'not enough time.'

I charged in, regardless, as a few more screams came to me over the roar of the fire. I noticed a pocket of people pinched in by some fallen, burning debris in the corner to my right, so I flicked a batarang that direction, not really knowing if it was a fire suppressant or freezing variety.

The explosion of white foam and steam told me it was fire-suppressant. An older man using his tweed jacket as a way to mask his face was struggling to help some students over the wreck as I ran up, remembering at the last moment to take the rebreather out of my mouth. Which was just as well, since I had just about exhausted the pathetically small canisters already. My breath was immediately taken away by the heat, though I pushed past it and started helping the older guy get the fifteen students in his charge over the wreckage.

"Hurry," I shouted, which devolved into coughing. "We're gonna find out what's on the second floor any moment."

The professor, for what else _could _he be with a tweed sport coat, nodded once. "Did you see what it was that put out this particular hotspot?"

"Fairy Bat-mother," I quipped as I tried to pry a particularly hysterical girl decked out in sorority paraphernalia from my waist after I eased her down.

That earned a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head. Batman had been exposed as more than an urban myth to the public during my…complete lapse of judgment a couple of years back, but there were still a healthy amount of people who stubbornly clung to the 'he's not real' camp. Which, honestly, was just stupid, considering the Knight Bus tours. And the visible batsignal from the GCPD headquarters. I could cite more examples, but loud _pops_ and the ominous sounds of more ceiling about to give reminded me that _THE BUILDING WAS BURNING DOWN AND NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR TANGENTS, STEPHANIE BROWN!_

I reached a hand out to the professor, as he was the last one now behind the debris, and yanked with all the force I could muster. He started to fall, but I steadied him and, once he had his footing, pushed in the direction of the door. I hesitated before I followed, the rest of my payload of batarangs in my hand, and decided to let fly with them in the hopes of buying both us and anyone else I couldn't see some more time. It would be precious little, seeing as this thing was at a point the fire department was probably just going to let it burn down rather than risk sending anyone inside.

My feet were already moving back out the lobby before any of my 'rangs activated, though I did hear a number of _pops_ and _whooshes_ that signified they were doing something. I happened to glance to my right as I was running towards daylight and noticed a portion of the stairs leading to the second and third floors had fallen in front of what looked like a computer lab. And blocked in by a mass of wood was Jordanna Spence.

Sigh.

Karma? Yeah, we're square now for the whole Scarab thing.

Jordanna, the Regina George of Gotham University, was pounding on the door, screaming loudly to get my attention. Though I seriously doubted she knew it was me she was calling to. I hurried over, keeping low to stay out of the smoke, and assessed the situation. Thankfully, the detritus wasn't on fire, though it was blackened like it had been. Unfortunately, it was too heavy to move out of the way without calling on Supergirl or, in a pinch, Miss Martian. Neither of whom would get here before the library's sudden, but inevitable, discovery that combustible materials, plus fire, equals no more library.

So, I did the only logical thing and threw a heavy piece of debris through the window looking into the lab.

Unfortunately, it just thudded off the glass.

"Oh, come on," I muttered, even as Jordanna gave stared blankly for a moment before she started screaming and gesturing wildly at me. Thankfully, I couldn't hear a word she was saying, which made ignoring her relatively easy.

Okay, so, bulletproof glass. Bit overkill for a college computer lab, but, then, this was Gotham City, after all. Heat would melt the plastic layers, but, seeing as how we were currently surrounded by said heat and there wasn't even warping yet, this glass must have come from S.T.A.R. Labs or something. Super-glass. The Glass of Steel. That's a terrifying thought.

Jordanna jumping up and down drew me out of my reverie. When she was satisfied she had my attention, she frantically started pointing back towards the fiery library of doom, screaming one word over and over. As much as I wanted to ignore her and figure out something to cut the glass with, like a diamond, I couldn't. I may not be really great at charades, but I am able to read lips really well.

She was screaming, "Axe."

My eyes trailed along the wall until I found one of those 'Break Glass in Emergency' boxes. Someone had already busted it out and removed the fire extinguisher, but still resting on its hooks was a bright, red fire axe. I leave it to less engaged minds to question why the library had bulletproof glass, yet still allowed ready access to an axe.

The axe was warm, but not scalding hot as I gripped it and hurried back to the computer lab. The smoke was getting thicker again, telling me my batarang barrage had only done so much. That and the constant creaking and groaning of the building let me know I didn't have much time left on my own estimate. That meant I had to make this swing count, because I wasn't likely to get a second chance.

No pressure.

Clambering over the debris, I spun the axe head so the pick would be striking the glass, looking to cause as much structural damage over a tiny area as possible and praying there was heat warping I couldn't see. I hauled back and swung with as much force as I could muster, which was actually quite a bit, considering the bat-training program. The pick busted through the glass, which caused a shattering effect and I was suddenly showered in shards. A scream of either joy or fear reached my ears as the five students trapped in the lab with Jordanna began trying to scramble out at the same time.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Did you people learn nothing during fire drills in elementary school?"

They all stared blankly back at me and I sighed. Kids. "Single file, no panicking, and we get out of this just fine."

Blissfully, they did what I told them to, even Jordanna, though it was with a huff. I was helping the last of the students out when the creaking and popping in the library proper began turning more into a cascade of noise. I yanked the poor girl's arm hard as I pulled her behind me, diving towards the door only a few feet away. I probably shouted something; I would like to believe it was an inspirational call to her that we were, indeed going to live, but, in reality, it was probably either a wordless battle cry or, more likely, a four-letter word repeated over and over.

I reached the door and swung the girl, who had short, orangish-red hair, adorable nerd glasses, and a glinting eyebrow piercing, through the door ahead of me, even as a wall of smoke and dust started enveloping us from the collapsing building. She flew through the open doorway and tumbled down the steps, where firefighters gallantly waited to scoop her up and carry her to safety. I could feel the impact of the building behind me as I put as much push in my leap as I could, letting my momentum and the shockwave throw me clear of the front steps and to the ground below, where I rolled several times to make sure I was both clear of the building and not on fire.

Tragically, there were no gallant firefighters for Stephanie.

Exhaustion washed over me as my adrenaline started waning. I forced myself to my feet, coughing all the way, and scrambled even farther back from the library as it folded in on itself, flames jumping high into the sky. Satisfied that the emergency personnel on scene could handle the situation, I decided to make my way back to Babs. Instead of cutting back across the Quad, which would have drawn all sorts of unwanted attention, I snuck in between buildings and made my way into the crowd of shocked rubberneckers in the courtyard, doing that urban camo thing that us Bat-people are taught to do so well.

"Hey! Steph!"

Forehead slap.

I looked up to see Francisco Gracia making his way towards me through crowd. Francisco was…gorgeous in that hard-bodied, square-jawed, perfectly gelled, Latino heart-throb kind of way. Y'know, if you're into that kind of thing. Which, it seemed, most of the campus was, as he had no lack of admirers, amongst both the students and staff.

Sigh. Yes, I was one of them also.

At least, at first, anyway. You see, unfortunately for roughly seventy-five percent of the female population of Gotham University, Francisco Gracia had no interest in them. Fortunately for thirty-five percent of the male population, he was in to them. Bear in mind, of course, my numbers may be skewed. My polling of the LGBT community of GU consisted of me making up those percentages just now.

I stopped and waited for him to shoulder his way through the crowd, clad in jeans and a T-shirt that was just awesomely tight. He may bat for the other team, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the man's beauty. He was even adorable in his Gotham Knights baseball cap. His faced was flushed with fear and his right hand was clasped in that of what I assumed was his boyfriend, a handsome, blonde, All-American boy type. If they weren't together, then Francisco was going to owe that poor boy dinner for dragging him around like that.

"Are you okay? Were you in there when…" he trailed off, gesturing aimlessly at the now-smoldering pile of rubble that was being doused by multiple hoses of the GCFD.

I gave a non-committal shrug and quipped, "I'd just found out GU had an agriculture program. Who knew?"

Francisco released his grip on All-American's hand and grasped me, almost desperately, by the shoulders. "But you're okay? You're bleeding Steph. Let me get an EMT…"

"Whoa," I shook my head. "Slow down. Yeah, I've got some hellacious smoke inhalation and probably enough splinters to build an end table, but I'm fine. See?" I moved my arms in a manner that I belatedly realized was the Robot. "Funky dance moves are still a go. Let the medics handle the people who really need it."

"At least sit down," he insisted, guiding me to a stretch of wall in the courtyard that wasn't occupied. Francisco practically shoved me down into a sitting position as he muttered, "You look dead on your feet. Are you sure you don't need an EMT? I can…"

"Stephanie will be fine, Mr. Gracia," Barbara's voice cut in from somewhere on my left. I lolled my head that direction, suddenly finding the effort to move muscles monumental. She was wheeling up to us from the crowd with looks of concern and annoyance warring behind her tinted glasses. "I'll keep watch over her. Why don't you and your companion see if any others need some assistance?"

Francisco looked like he really wanted to press the issue, but Babs must have had her death glare working, because All-American grabbed Francisco's hand, muttered something I didn't catch, and led him away, with Francisco yelling, "Call me later."

I waved slightly and leaned against the wall. One of Barbara's wheels came into my peripheral vision and I moaned out, "I'd like to not be blown up again for a very long time."

"I'll see what I can do," she said dryly. "Do you need Leslie?"

"Please and thank you," I responded. "I wasn't kidding about the splinters in my back. Next time I go racing into a burning building, make sure I'm wearing more than a T-shirt."

"Sure," she said, though from the tone of her voice, she was stopping herself from saying anything more. The reason why revealed itself a second later as a shadow rolled over me.

I looked up, again more of a lolling of the head, to see Jordanna standing above me. Her dark brown, really almost black hair, was a mess, with glass and wood shards still liberally sprinkled throughout. Soot was everywhere on her face, though she still looked gorgeous, which I reminded myself to be annoyed at later, when I had more energy. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before huffing.

"Thanks for not being completely worthless," she said rapidly, then spun on her heels and marched off towards an EMT with a waiting oxygen mask.

"Huh," Barabara grunted after a moment. "That was…"

I waved her off and began pushing myself up off the ground, sputtering a few times in the process. "That was Future Stephanie's awkward situation to deal with. Please tell me you're parked close by."

"Thankfully, yes. Just on the other side of the union."

"I love you, Babs."

"You love my handicap sticker."

"I plead the fifth on the grounds that I don't want to respond to that."

Thankfully, I did not embarrass myself in stumbling to her car. I at least waited until I was buckled in before passing out. It's the little things in life.

* * *

><p>AN: Welcome to what happens when I binge read Bryan Q. Miller's excellent _Batgirl _series. I want more. Unfortunately, there isn't really all that much that I've been able to find, other than a few awesome, and one awesomely weird, AUs. So, Ta da! Continuation fic. I actually have plans for three volumes. Which is more than I have for the_ Community: Season 6ish_ fic I've got going on. Unlike that one, there probably won't be too many author's notes here. Also, will update this one whenever I feel like it. I've got a few chapters in the can, but, as I just discovered, I ran out of oomph with _6ish. _So, I'm not guaranteeing a weekly schedule or anything. You will see a lot of familiar faces throughout, some unexpected faces, and Superman wears underwear, dammit.


	2. Chapter 2

_Leslie Thompkins' Clinic_

_118 splinters later_

I couldn't help the sigh that escaped me when the doctor proclaimed me splinter-free after a couple of hours of intense tweezing.

"If you didn't squirm so much, it wouldn't hurt near as bad," Leslie Thompkins, Bat-family medic, said. She was probably in her late fifties, though her looks hadn't really faded too much, and she had the best bedside manner.

For the most part. Let's…not get into the Black Mask Debacle.

Though, I do owe my life to her from said Black Mask Debacle. Leslie faked my death after my identity as Spoiler had been compromised and smuggled me out of the country, where I was to live out my life helping out the less fortunate anonymously in Africa. That lasted for about a year before I got antsy and made my way back to Gotham. Leslie followed not long after Bruce 'died,' re-establishing a clinic and dedicating her life once more to the less fortunate of Gotham. She had done some real good in the months since she got back, but I saw the way she looked at me occasionally, both in and out of costume. I'm not going to call her on it, but I'd bet my prized, autographed 2000 Gotham Griffins Eastern Division Championship pennant that she still felt guilty for lying to Bruce and 'killing' me.

Especially since I don't think they've made up. However, Bruce hasn't had her arrested and thrown in Arkham, so she's got that going for her, which is nice.

Of course, I wasn't exactly feeling the warm fuzzies towards her at the moment, either. "One-hundred and twenty splinters. You try not squirming after the first dozen."

She merely raised an iron-grey eyebrow. "You've had much worse injuries than this, Stephanie."

"Well, sure," I said as she began taping down multiple gauze pads on my back to keep the multitude of wounds from being exposed to the elements. It was just the two of us, as Barbara had to leave after the first hour to check on a Dick-Batman related case, which was funny, considering her months-old 'Oracle is dead to the cape community' stance. "Thankfully, I wasn't really conscious for the worst of them. And you used the good stuff to dull the pain if I was."

"I apologize," Leslie said with an audible eye roll. I don't know how that's possible, but she accomplished it. "Next time you come to me to get a splinter removed, I'll remember to use the 'good stuff.'"

"That's all I ask," I said with a nod. We fell into a silence for a bit while she worked, though I couldn't let it last too long. Quiet and me, we're not the best of buds. "So, heard from Wendy at all?"

Wow. Even I could hear the horrible fake casualness in my voice. Thankfully, Leslie didn't comment on it. "Unfortunately, no," she said, a note of wistfulness in her voice. "The journey she's on, it doesn't lend itself very well to communication with the outside world. She'll come back when she's faced whatever demons were plaguing her."

So, a super-villain, Oracle-level genius father who hijacked the corpse of her twin brother and forced another superhero named Kid Eternity to bring him back to life for bursts at a time and then killed said superhero when he burned himself out, resulting in super-villain father going nuts, talking to said corpse as if it were still alive, and siccing Darkseid nanites on Barbara in an attempt to 'win' Wendy back.

I almost wish I had said that out loud. That was a) the most complicated sentence I have ever thought, and b) the most awesome example of nutshelling known to humankind.

Oh, and let's not forget that said dead twin brother had been killed by an actual demon dog that also left Wendy paralyzed from the waist down.

"Wendy Harris has the heart of a hero, after all," Leslie continued. "Much like other stubborn young women I know. She'll want to see through what the two of you started."

"Team Batgirl, all the way," I muttered and then glanced at the clock, one of those creepy cat ones with the swiveling eyes and swishing tail to denote seconds. I had my guesses about where that came from. Felix told me it was after six, which meant that I had got tweezed for a little over two hours and crap I was supposed to have been home an hour ago. "Leslie, have you seen my phone? I need to call my mom and let her know not to panic. Actually, that's probably too late. I need to let her know not to have a go at Bruce or Alfred, whichever one is at the manor."

"Stephanie, calm down," Leslie said, grinning slightly. "Barbara called your mother on the way over here, while you were passed out in the car. You have been excused from Scrabble night, I am to inform you."

"Well, at least some good came from getting exploded," I said as I gingerly shrugged into a loner shirt that Leslie had lying around. Unfortunately, mine hadn't survived the end of the Hightower Agricultural Library. My jeans were also shredded, so I slipped into a pair of scrub pants and pulled back on my shoes, which had, miraculously, lived to tell the tale of my heroic actions. I wasn't overly worried about the way I looked at the moment, as I aimed to wear an entirely different outfit within the next half hour.

So, naturally, that's when I emerged from the room to find myself eye-to-incredibly well-defined chest with a freaking statue of David.

He had dark skin, like melted chocolate, and smelled strongly of body odor, as if he had just finished a work out. It said a lot about me that I wasn't completely put off. His eyes locked on mine and I about fainted underneath those intense, black eyes. I couldn't tell you what his hair looked like, because I stopped taking him in once our eyes met.

His lips quirked a little and he said, "You okay?"

"Sure," I said mechanically. What was I doing, again? Something about…wheat? That doesn't sound right.

"You positive?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because you're kind of just standing there staring blankly."

"Sure."

"Uh huh," the Greek God grunted. He folded his arms over his chest, almost protectively. "Maybe I should try to find Dr. Thompkins. She should be able to fix you right up."

OhmigodbrainthisyourmouthspeakingMAKEMESAYOMETHINGINTELLIGENT.

"I'm fine," I said. Way to go, Brain. Nice start. "Really. So, uh, you come here often?"

Well done, Dork Knight.

"Just started this week," he said, shifting slightly to his right, as if to maneuver around the crazy girl eyeing him like a prize steak. "I, uh, I've got a thing out back."

"Right," I muttered, turning to the side and letting him pass. He tossed me a glance back, but it was of the worried, 'Is she following me?' variety. I smiled weakly and muttered to myself, "It was nice meeting you. I look forward to your restraining order."

Leslie picked that exact moment to leave the examining room. "Did you say something, Stephanie?"

I sighed. "Just reaffirming my vow of celibacy."

She followed my gaze down the hallway, where a very, very attractive back was quickly making its way towards the exit to the basketball courts behind the clinic. Leslie told me she had chosen the location both for the medical facilities and for the recreation opportunities that could be made available to area youth in need of something constructive to do with their time. I know the courts were in constant use, especially by the wheelchair group that played basketball three or four times a week. Barbara was even known to join in, though she liked murderball a bit better than straight basketball. Probably because of the violence involved in it.

"Ah," Leslie said, breaking into my thoughts. "You met Lucas."

"I don't know that met is the right word," I said. "It was more like I ran into him, he asked me questions, and I stared like a moron. So, really, par for the course in the Many Loves of Stephanie Brown."

"I'm sure it wasn't so bad," she said, trying to sound reassuring. "You should have heard what Ginger at the front desk said the first time he came through. Over the intercom."

I sighed. "At least my embarrassment was limited to the two of us. So, who is Lucas, anyway?"

"Lucas Fox," Leslie said as we began making our way towards the front of the building. "He's been helping out with some of the after school programs since he got back into town."

"That's nice," I said, my mind still on my close encounter with his chest. Her words did manage to penetrate the fog, though, after a few seconds. "Wait. Rewind. Lucas _Fox_? As in, Lucius Fox?"

"That would be Lucius' oldest," Leslie confirmed. "I believe three years older than Tamara, but don't quote me on that, obviously. He's just graduated M.I.T. A year early."

Interesting. "And he's hanging out at an inner-city clinic because?"

Leslie made a face that could only be politely described as disapproving. "He has certain…attitudes about societal status that Lucius felt would best be corrected before he joined Wayne Enterprises."

"Ah," I nodded sagely. "He hates poor people."

"Stephanie," she admonished me, though I noted it wasn't too forcefully. "That's not exactly…"

I met her eyes and raised an eyebrow expectantly. After a moment, Leslie coughed and turned her head away. We had reached the front desk, where a plump woman with the most obviously dyed red hair was chattering away on her cell phone, ignoring a few of the patients huddled in yellow, plastic waiting chairs. Leslie gave her the Grandmother Stare. It was a look I had learned to fear in Africa; she managed to communicate multiple levels of anger, disappointment, and annoyance with one slight quirk of her eyebrows and a small frown. It was pretty much the exact opposite of the Care Bear Stare.

It was the Grandmother Stare that had, in all honesty, kept me from running back to Gotham for longer than six months after arriving in Africa.

Leslie suitably cowed the receptionist, who quickly ended her conversation and dutifully turned back to the computer and whatever data entry she had been neglecting. I caught Leslie's eye roll as she reached for a note pad and started scribbling. I tried to feel bad for the girl, really, but my back was oozing a little and I felt no sympathy for anyone.

"Now, Stephanie," Leslie began, holding up the note. "These are very specific instructions on what to do to prevent infection on your back. I assume you will have someone available to put some salve on your wounds?"

"Is this your way of checking to see if I still live with my mother?"

"I recommend avoiding any strenuous physical activities for at least seventy-two hours," Leslie said, ignoring me. "I, of course, realize you will cheerfully disregard that, so please change your bandages at least twice a day."

"Will do," I saluted and pocketed her note. Leslie turned her attention towards Ginger and I skedaddled out the front door of the clinic, exchanging a quick nod with a tall, athletically built blonde man with a soul patch and a rapier attached to his hip. Leslie's head of security. He's a Musketeer. Don't ask; I regretted it when I did.

The sun had sunk a little lower in the sky, but it was still solidly light out and would be for another two hours yet. Which meant that I wouldn't go looking into the explosion in an official capacity for a while, yet, as it was frowned upon to venture out in costume during the daylight hours. Not that I hadn't done just that a time or two. Instead, I began the trek from Leslie's clinic to Barbara's apartment building.

Well, technically, her former apartment building. She had upgraded to a better place closer to Kord Tower about a month ago. In fact, one of her secret entrances to her new Not-Oracle Cave ran underneath the building, which wasn't at all coincidental and, most likely, funded by certain Darkly Avenging benefactors. The upshot was that she could easily roll to the tower, though, somewhat ironically, she was now even farther away from the day job. I had asked her if she was planning on keeping the assistant professor gig, but Babs was unsurprisingly cagey.

Firewall, however, did not move with her to the waterfront. Team Batgirl, such that it was, still called Barbara's old, run-down apartment not far from the rail yard home. The rent was controlled (barely), the pipes were usable (sort of), and the air conditioner only worked on Tuesdays following a full moon. I really wish I was making that up, but Proxy and I tested the theory in a very scientific manner.

Not that I really cared about the apartments, not anymore. Firewall was deep beneath the building, in a sub-level that I don't think the superintendent had been aware of. There was a freight elevator that amazingly worked, considering the state of the rest of the building, though access to that had been reworked with Batman, Inc.'s massive overhaul of my subterranean Den of Justice. Now, access was by invitation only, though I was a little fuzzy on who, exactly, had access. Barbara, Proxy, and I, obviously. Bruce was a given, considering. Probably Dick and Tim. I really hoped Damian wasn't on the list. Or that Misfit girl.

The elevator slid to a smooth stop and the door slid open, revealing one on of the brightest rooms you will ever step foot in. Batman, Inc., had taken my secret lair and pimped it out from a dingy, leaky basement that happened to have a giant, not internet-connected computer set up and a nifty personal vehicle called the Ricochet to…well, a crimefighter's wet dream. We're talking hologram projectors, digital spectro…graph…isotope…things.

Okay, full disclosure. I know very little about how to run most of the new equipment. Database searches and the batarang press are about as far as I really get when it comes to Firewall. Don't get me wrong, I'm trying to learn. The detective part of the gig isn't exactly second nature to me. I'm more of the 'point me in the direction of the bad guys and let me make up the plan as I go along' type. It's unorthodox, but I can safely say, in an odd family of meticulous planners and thinkers, I punch to the beat of my own drummer.

I had to shield my eyes momentarily as I exited the elevator, as the difference between the dim car and the holycrapthat'sbright settings of Firewall's fluorescents was overwhelming. Bruce had to have taken stock in a light bulb company, because my hideout was lit to a ridiculous degree. Even the floor was lit in places. I don't know what the point was, unless it was to create a polar opposite to the Batcave. Which it does nicely.

The computer bank on the left wall hummed to life when I put in the password into one of six different keyboards on the console. Firewall boasted six giant monitors, plus eight smaller ones. I barely could figure out how to get the smaller ones to work, so the big ones were almost always dark, except for when I needed the television feed. As a teenager, even if it is only by a few more months, I could always figure out the TV.

At that moment, I had the center-most big screen tuned to a live feed of WGBS, who had a reporter live in the Hamilton Hill Free Speech Zone doing a breaking news update. This, apparently, had been an ongoing report for the last two hours, as they bounced between the studio crew and ace reporter Lillian Seabrooke live on scene, who was presently interviewing the pixie-like girl I had physically thrown out of the library as it collapsed.

"_What were you doing in the library?" _Lillian asked.

The girl shifted a little, the fringe of her short, orange-red hair falling over her glasses. _"I work there, y'know? Shelving, filing, that kind of thing."_

"_And you were in a computer lab when the explosion happened?"_

"_Yeah. I was monitoring some students in there when there was this deafening _BOOM_ and the room shook like that earthquake a few years back. Next thing I know, y'know, the stairs start falling down, blocking in me and about ten others."_

Pixie was kind of adorable here, as she couldn't stand still for a second, constantly bobbing on her feet and shifting. She was like a puppy. The reporter offered her most sympathetic look and asked, _"And how did you all escape?"_

"_We got lucky," _Pixie admitted, again shifting uncomfortably. _"The smoke was, y'know, really thick and we couldn't budge the debris. One of the girls trapped in there with me was losing her mind, screaming at people that were running out. Then some blonde girl was hitting the window with an axe and got us out."_

"_Do you know who your savior was?" _And just like that, the sympathetic reporter was gone, replaced by a shark that smelled a Pulitzer in the water.

Pixie shook her head. _"I didn't really see her face. She saved my life twice, y'know? Threw me out of the library as it started to collapse. Never saw her get out, herself."_

"_I see," _Lillian Seabrooke, future bitter drunk during the Pulitzer ceremony, said. _"Just one more tragic story to add to this horrific day. Recounting our top story, an explosion occurred on the campus of Gotham University at approximately four p.m. this afternoon in the Hightower Agriculture Library. Gotham City Police have not released whether this was an accident or the work of a person or group of persons. What we do know is that, officially, eleven people lost their lives, but, as we just heard from GU student Carrie…"_

I clicked off the feed after that, not wanting to really hear how it could have been worse. Utilizing my rudimentary computer skills, I pulled up the scanner band for emergency services, listening helplessly for about forty-five minutes to the chatter of the rescue teams combing the rubble for any sign of survivors. They only found about four more bodies, bringing the total up to twenty. Lillian had been working off some old information, apparently.

"Listening to that will only drive you crazy," Barbara's voice rose over the constant stream of progress reports. I craned my head from where I sat at the computer and saw her rolling her way out of the elevator shaft. I hadn't even heard it open.

"I'm waiting for the rescue crews call it a night," I replied. "That way I can do the sleuth thing all sneaky like."

"Uh huh," Babs raised a dubious eyebrow. "In the meantime, you're making sure you hear it each time they pull someone from the rubble, allowing you time to brood. That's not a 'you' move, Steph. That's Bruce or Tim."

I bristled. "Tim hasn't always been that way."

Babs raised an eyebrow. "We are talking about the same Tim Wayne _née _Drake, right? The one who figured out Batman's identity at _nine_? Who just got back from working for Ra's Al Ghul?"

"We agreed we weren't mentioning his you-know-what," I chastised. And by we, I mean myself, Dick, Barbara, and Alfred. Bruce had just returned and was getting his bearings, so we didn't want to drop our concerns on him until we were sure there was an issue. And Damian…is Damian. Always the jealous little brother.

And, by you-know-what, I meant Tim's obvious mental breakdown. He had been depressed, obviously, though undiagnosed because therapists? What self-respecting superhero goes to a therapist? Tim had lost his dad, Superboy, Kid Flash, his step-mom, his 'uncle,' and me all in less than two years. The fact that I wasn't really dead, and both Superboy and Kid Flash got better, didn't diminish the fact the boy was messed in the head. Bruce 'dying' just pushed him over an edge that none of us could pull him back from.

He very much had to work through it himself, though the way he did it was both perplexing and troubling, as he threw his lot in with the League of Assassins. He didn't kill anyone (we think), but he does have his own, personal, bald-headed bint of an assassin following him around like a puppy. It was enough to make all four of us, plus Superboy, Kid Flash, and Wonder Girl have to hold back on massive, 'What the hell, Red Robin?' speeches.

I was pretty sure I would get ignored, two of the Titans would also be brushed off, though in a more polite manner, Babs and Dick would at least get listened to, and Superboy and Alfred would have the best chance of getting through to him. I noticed over the last few months, since Bruce's return from…whenever the hell he was, Tim hadn't allowed himself to be alone with any of us. Alfred, especially, which told me he had already deduced as much, himself. He had hung out with the Titans a lot recently, though, from what Superboy had told me when he brought his concerns to me about a month ago, he was spending more and more time with Ravager. Which thrilled exactly no one.

Still, we bit our tongues, let him continue to play out his grand chess matches to (hopefully) catch criminals, and prayed to our various deities that Tim knew what he was doing.

"I know, I know," Barbara held up her hands defensively. "But not talking to him about it is only making us complicit in his spiral."

"We are not doing an intervention," I said with as much force as I could. "Those never work well for us."

Barbara raised an eyebrow. "I assume you mean the 'Bruce Wayne, Murderer' situation. I didn't realize you were aware of that."

"Cass may have filled me in," I said. Or I may have, accidentally mind you, stumbled upon Bruce's notes on their 'intervention' (which, in reality, was little more than an actual fight between Batman and Nightwing) when I went through the Batcomputer after being fired as Robin. For a paranoid, magnificent bastard-type, using his parents' date of death for his passwords is just lazy.

Also, with the previous statement, I understand and accept why everyone told me to get out of the superhero gig as Spoiler.

Babs didn't even have to grunt for me know she didn't buy the lie for a moment. Which meant it was time to deftly change the subject. "So, shouldn't you be out getting your groove thang on?"

"I'm meeting Dinah and Helena there," Barbara said. She gave me this look over the tops of her yellow-tinted glasses that told me we weren't finished with this discussion, which I expected. Hopefully, it wouldn't be for a while, though. "I wanted to make sure you weren't brooding and to let you know I checked in with some of my contacts at the police department. Bomb squad will be doing their sweep of the library in about forty-five minutes."

I held up a finger to pause. "Shouldn't they have already done that?"

"They did a cursory, 'let's make sure there aren't any more' check," Barbara said. "This is the 'let's find out what brought a library down' investigation."

"Ah," I nodded and made my way to the costume vault on the back wall. I had already changed into the purple body stocking that I wore underneath the suit. Chaffing, the superheroine's true bane. "Well, then, I feel it's my civic duty to ensure the safety of the investigating team."

"It scares me when you talk like that."

I shrugged, mostly to myself, as I began pulling the bat-suit on. The suit was a Kevlar-reinforced material that Barbara had explained and I had dutifully spaced off. Thankfully, it was somewhat breathable, though that might have something to do with the built-in cooling slash vital signs monitoring system. It was black with purple, padded stripes on the sides, and a yellow Bat-symbol over my chest. The cowl and cape were one piece that was perfectly molded to my head and tricked out with all sorts of nifty optics. We're talking heat, infra-red, webcam, and I'm pretty sure there's Netflix if I could figure out the ear wiggle combination.

Babs designed the suit and her and Alfred built it. The purple, including the inside of the cape, and the thigh belt they included were such obvious nods to my roots as Spoiler that none of us felt comfortable mentioning it, out of fear that tears would fall shortly afterwards. Well, that's my fear. Of the other two, Alfred would be a little misty, but I'm pretty sure Barbara would rather fight Doomsday than admit she cried over how far I've come.

When I came out of the costume vault, cape in hand, Barbara was at the computer bank, typing away at something while one of the gizmos whirred and beeped constantly. "Whatcha doin? Besides avoiding your date with the Dougie."

"I don't know anyone named Dougie," Babs said distractedly. "I'm running an analysis on the substances on your shoes."

"To see if there's any residue on them," I nodded. That was something I would have totally done, had I know which doohickey was the spectro-analytical thingy. I swung the mantle around my shoulders, the heavy, leather weight settling down on them comfortably. The cowl was next, which somewhat uncomfortably crushed my hair to my skull until I was able to pull it out through the hole in the back.

Barbara made a gesture that could, generously, be considered a nod. "Should be done in about two hours or so. You know what to do to cross-reference the results with known criminals who use a particular brand of explosive or accelerant?"

"Shift F-five?"

A long pause followed while Barbara just stared blankly. "I'll just set the computer to forward me the results, then."

"Probably for the best."

Nose pinch. "I need to get going. You'll call if you run into trouble?"

I shot her a bright grin as I walked towards the vehicle bay. "What could possibly go wrong?"


End file.
